Learning to Let Go and Rest

What Happens When You Don’t Let Go and Rest

Nobody likes to feel alone. I’m at the top of the list. I want sisterhood in my struggle. I want company in my misery. I want someone to break through my walls, look past my mask, and weed through the… weeds… to get to my heart. But I want the other person to do all the work so I don’t have to explain or discuss any of the feeling or thoughts that I may or may not be having. In fact, I would prefer not to share anything at all.

That’s why it’s so weird that I recently wrote a book, a memoir no less. Not just any memoir, but a memoir that sounds like fiction novel interrupted by movie scenes. A weird “disjointed” storytelling adventure about a very private person told in a most un-private kind of way. And it’s over 300 pages long. Yikes.

It’s overwhelmingly frightening to be out in the open, vulnerable and exposed. Since my book release, I’ve been having daily moments of “yes, I did it!” quickly followed by anxiety ridden trips to the bathroom. It’s never easy to put it all out there. It’s scary, like that dream where you show up to gym class totally naked kind of scary.

What’s the book about? Good question. I think the best way to sum it up is to say that it’s the story of an overly private, independent, over-achieving former athlete who learned that life is too hard to do alone. It’s better to ask for help.

It all started when a doctor confirmed that my new-found inability to move my feet… or sit up… or roll over… or do anything really… was the result of a separated pelvis. Yes, you heard me. I had a separated pelvis. Ouch. It was particularly painful since that very same separated pelvis was the final blow of an already difficult pregnancy and an excessively exhausting labor and delivery. The hard part was supposed to be over, but instead it was just beginning.

How was I, a stubborn, overachieving independent, former athlete going to recover from this kind of permanent injury that was going to change my life forever? Not very well I’m afraid. I stayed strong, I persevered, but I forgot one very important thing. I forgot how to let go and rest.

Here’s a “scene” from my movie/book that shows exactly how much I wanted to rush the healing process. I had microscopically begun to recover from my separated pelvis. Did I give my self the space I needed to continue my recovery? No. I did not. Instead I did this…

OPEN: Black Screen

TITLE: Never mess with a New Yorker, no matter what age she is.

FADE TO: EXTERIOR NEW YORK CITY/UPPER WEST SIDE – EARLY EVENING

CAMERA HOLDS on view of city street on Upper West Side of NYC. The lights of the city have just come on. The soft sounds of people sitting outside at the recently opened sidewalk cafés rise up to the sky mingling with the soft spring breeze. The traffic noise is light, muffled, almost nonexistent. The sidewalks are damp from a recent rain.

MOMMY is walking…. slowly… painfully along on the sidewalk. You can tell by her face she thinks she is walking perfectly. In her imagination she is walking in a way that no one can actually tell she is injured. She thinks she is flying down the street. We switch back and forth from reality to her imagination several times to establish the humor of her delusional thought process.

MOMMY notices an elderly woman walking about a half a block ahead. Elderly woman is hunched over, almost into the shape of the letter “C.”

FROM MOMMY’s POV: camera zooms in on the older woman with the laser intensity of a warrior.

TARGET SCOPE focuses on the back of the older woman.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

ROBOTIC VOICE
Target acquired

And so the race was on.

MUSIC: Inspirational running music (perhaps something like Chariots of Fire)

Sidewalk morphs into running track with a looming finish line.PEOPLE at sidewalk cafés become spectators.

CAMERA toggles back and forth from elderly lady to MOMMY who are both now “running” in slow motion as if sprinting in an epic race.

CUT TO: real-time to show elderly lady walking down the street with the café patrons ignoring her and everyone on the city sidewalk going about business as usual.

CUT BACK TO: MOMMY who is still sprinting on track with café patrons cheering her on from the “stands” which are really just the sidewalk café barriers. You can even see the names of some of the restaurants as she “runs” by.

Exaggerate both are moving at same slow-motion speed even though MOMMY’s imagination makes it seem like they are both sprinting.

Suddenly MOMMY doubles over in pain and is forced to stop. In her imagination it’s like she blew out a hamstring just like a world-class sprinter might. She grimaces in pain, tries to keep going but can’t and falls onto “track.” She crashes to the ground with a face of defeat and agony.

Elderly woman sprints across the finish line while the crowd at the tables cheers wildly. The spectators pour onto the sidewalk to congratulate elderly woman encircling her with crazy celebration. They lift her up on their shoulders. She pumps her fist in victory.

Scene morphs back to reality. MUSIC stops. Sounds of city return. Elderly woman walks calmly down city street.

MOMMY stands in the middle of the sidewalk as the city goes on around her. She is doubled over and breathing deeply with sweat running down her face.

VOICE-OVER/MOMMY
Owwwwwuchhhhhh. Ouch. Ouch.

FADE TO BLACK

Why couldn’t I just let it go? Why couldn’t I just be satisfied with the place of healing I was already in? Why did I feel the need to turn a walk into a race?

Because I wanted to better before I was truly ready to be better.

Being left in dust by that old lady was just the beginning for me. That scene in my book took place in Chapter Eight. I had nineteen chapters to go before I made my turn toward healing. But, in every chapter, the lesson I needed to learn remained the same.

Sit down.

I don’t want to!

Sit down.

There’s so much left to do!

Sit down.

It’ll never get done unless I do it!

Sit down.

I can’t! I have to keep fighting!

Rest.

I have a race I need to finish…

Be still.

Okay, but just for a moment…

And then, of course, I hop back up. I try to grab it all back. I try to take control again.

I should have learned this lesson quickly. Losing a race to an unsuspecting, 80-year-old New Yorker should have been enough to remind me. Even with everything I have learned to surrender, there is still more to this lesson that I need to embrace.